


Agent Barton.

by poodlecake85



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodlecake85/pseuds/poodlecake85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton breaks out of prison, throws a toothbrush at Fury, kills a bunch of SHEILD agents as well as the deputy Director. He is then recruited into SHEILD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent Barton.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is my first attempt at anything Marvel. also i'm not particularly experienced with writing FanFiction so this might be terrible.  
> ah well it's posted now.
> 
> if you do decide to read it please leave feedback so i can do better next time.

“Clinton Francis Barton.” The man said as he sat down across the table. Clint smirked as he kicked his feet up onto the table.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He laughed and the man just stared at him like he was an idiot.

“Don’t worry about that, nobody is going to wear your name out. Hell nobody is going to remember you even existed, everyone who knew you is dead now, aren’t they?” The man asked and images of Barney impaled with one of his arrows flashes through his head, he slides his feet back off the table and stares right into the other man’s eyes.

“They will be when I watch _you_ bleed out.” The man across from him tenses before leaning back in his chair.

“Sorry kid, but I don’t spend a whole lot of time here.” the man points out as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “And you aren’t going to see the light of day any time soon.” He lights his cigarette, drawing the smoke into his lungs as he rises out of his chair.

“I would say something along the lines of see ya later, but we are never seeing each other again kid.” He laughs as he leaves. Clint is left alone chained to the table with only his thoughts to keep him occupied, he’s bored out of his mind after ten minutes.

Two hours later Clint is stripped out of his clothes before he is hosed down and dried by a group of guards, they let him dress himself before showing him to his cell and Clint whistles. It’s impressive, definitely going to be harder to get out of here than the last prison he had been sent to.

 

* * *

 

Three months later and Clint perfectly mimics a seizure in the middle of the night, he knocks the first two guards out easily, the third Clint grabs and pushes a sharpened toothbrush against his jugular. He pulls the man’s two way radio from his belt and flicks the channel over to the private channel this guy uses.

“Listen Burnie, I know you’ve hit the alarm and I have to say that was a stupid fucking thing to do.” He calls into the radio as he walks to the first door. “Now if you want your nephew here to make it home to his wife and little girl, you’re going to unlock this door for me.” The Guard in his grip tenses and the blood drains from his face, Clint pushes the tooth brush in deeper until a thin red trail makes its way down to soak into the man’s shirt.

The door in front of him unlocks and Clint drags the man down the corridor with him.

“Alright there are two doors between me and the courtyard Burnie. When I get close to them they are going to be opened.” Clint explains as he drags the man around a corner and past several other cells. When he reaches the second door there is a slight delay until Clint opens a shallow slice in the guards neck and the door hisses and pops open.

When he reaches the third door he finds a group of guards in his way. He throws the one he’s been practically dragging this whole time into his co-workers as he pulls the baton from his belt. As the first new guard tries to catch Clint’s hostage Clint smashes the baton against his head, ducking under the second guy’s swing he snaps his left fist out and breaks the guy’s nose. The third and fourth guards rush at him, Clint trips the third  and knees the fourth in the groin. He throws his body into the second guy, smashing him against the wall and avoiding the pair of barbs which fly from the fifth guard’s Taser. He gets in close and twists the Fifth guard’s arm around before wrenching it loose from its socket. He twists and kicks the third guard in the head as he gets back up.

Only he and the guard he dragged all the way here are capable of standing, luckily for the both of them he seems to be afraid to even breathe, let alone attack Clint.

“Hey, Burnie. Why isn’t this door open?” He asks through the radio as he strips two stab proof vests from the guards. A can of pepper spray and a small throwing knife which the first guard was definitely not supposed to have are in his possession before a clipped female voice sounds through the radio.

“Agent Franklin is no longer capable of opening any doors for you Mr Barton.” Whoever it is informs him and he grabs the Tasers from two guards and pulls the wires free, he hooks them over the door handle and pulls the triggers. The door sparks and makes a small popping noise before Clint lets the triggers go, he quickly pulls the wires from the door and throws his body against it.

The door slowly slides open revealing the courtyard beyond, Clint notices the activity in the guard towers and the group of guards running his way. He throws his body across the courtyard as fast as he can, the hard guards out here apparently didn’t get the memo and the only things that hit him are non-lethal rubber slugs.

 The group of guards that are about to head him off are packed together in a way that makes Clint smile inside as he throws the can of pepper spray towards them, the throwing knife cleaves through the aluminium can spraying the whole group and reducing them to coughing and trying to clear their eyes.

Clit tips one of the new, camp ground style tables over. It lands on the older, bolted down table at a nice 60 degree angle and Clint throws the first vest to land over the barbed wire of the first fence. One of the guards hits his arm as he runs up the table, the sting of it doing nothing to stop Clint launching through the air.

His feet throw his body forward as soon as he lands on top of the vest, the second vest in his hands prevents the barbed wire tearing into his arms as he throws his body over the second fence. He makes it to the forest faster than even he thought he would.

 

* * *

 

He sprints for ten minutes, runs for thirty and then jogs until the sun comes up. He would have gone for longer but he finds himself coming to a stop in a clearing, what Clint assumes to be an African American man is just standing there. Clint has to stop himself from making any stupid comments about the sun and the reflection from the man’s bald head as he takes in his appearance. Something tells Clint that this man is by far more deadly than anything he’s come across so far and it brings him up short because that title went to cold blooded killers just a few minutes ago.

“Do you know how many people have escaped from that facility?” The man asks and Clint can tell he expects a reasonable answer right away.

“At least one.” Clint answers as truthfully as he can because he actually has no idea if any other inmates have ever made it out. Thinking about it now Clint realises that he has no information about the prison at all, hell, he doesn’t even know what country he’s in.

“Not, at least one.” The man calls out as the wind picks up. “One.” Clint can’t help the feelings that well up in his chest with that, sure he’s probably going to die here but at least he has some claim to fame now.

“Yeah well, what can I say. It’s hard to keep a carnie locked up.” He calls back, finding himself enjoying the conversation.

“Do you have any recommendations? To make sure nobody else is ever able to do what you did?” The man asks and Clint knows this guy is appealing to his competitive side, well it’s working, he thinks.

“Yeah, go old-school with your doors, whatever it is you use to hold the heavy fuckers closed isn’t so hard to overload. Or maybe just don’t give the guards something that can be used to overload them.” Clint calls over to him as the winds really starts roaring through the clearing, he has a brief idea of how awesome this guy would look with a big coat, something that flaps at the bottom but no were else.

“You know what, just get some better Guards.” He has to yell over the wind now. “Are you doing this shit!”

“Do I look like I’m doing this?” the man yells back at him and Clint has to admit that yeah, this guy seems like the type of person who could bend the weather to his will.

“Okay, then can we take this somewhere else? I feel like you have a gun and this wind is going to throw my aim right off.” Clint request as he pulls the toothbrush from his pocket.

“Well, let’s get you back into your cage then.” The man yells as he pulls a throwing knife from his belt.

Clint isn’t under the impression that the man across the clearing doesn’t have more weapons on him, but he appreciates the gesture as the man sends his knife towards him and Clint sends the toothbrush sailing towards him.

Neither man moves as the knife embeds itself in Clint’s right arm, or when the toothbrush buries itself in the other man’s shoulder. Clint pulls the knife from his arm and prepares to give it back to its owner when he hears the distinct sound of grass being crushed under boots. Looking around he isn’t surprised at the appearance of the agents or soldiers or whatever these guys are. He is surprised by the distinctly softer footsteps that speak of well-maintained dress shoes, not really suitable for this environment.

“Quick question Mr, ah man I don’t even know your name.” Clint interrupts himself.

“Fury, Nicholas Fury.” The man informs him, everyone else has gone silent and Clint is damn sure that Fury was controlling the wind because now there’s barely a breeze.

“Well then, I have a quick question for you Mr Fury. Which one of your subordinates should I plant this knife in?” He asks, noticing a few of the agents/soldiers tensing at his words. “Cause I aint going back.”

He hears the man or woman in dress shoes approach him from behind and he flips the knife so that the blade is held between his fingers. Fury holds up a hand and Clint cannot fathom where he got the manila folder from.

“I have an idea of where you can stick that knife, and no it’s not where you’re thinking.” Clint approaches the other man. Whoever was in the suit had stopped immediately as Fury had raised his hand.

“That guy nearly got himself killed.” Clint comments as he stops close enough to the man to see the blood soaking his shirt around the bright green handle of the tooth brush.

“Yeah, but when I go to chew him out about it he’ll reply ‘better me than anyone else, Sir.’” Fury informs him as he hands over the file. The information inside was sparse and what it did contain was just confusing Clint.

“Why do you want an American Colonel dead, buddy?” He keeps his voice low enough that only Fury could have heard him.

“A strong case is building implicating this man in a number of subversive actions against both my organization and the Military he works for. Now SHEILD can’t officially move against him, but rest assured that the sooner he stops breathing, the sooner we can stop a little bit of undue suffering in this world. I need you to take care of the situation without any links back to us, can you do that?” He asks, Clint notices that he keeps his voice far lower than Clint had.

“Sure Nick, but I want my record gone.” Clint demands. “And I’m not calling you Sir.”

“Call me Sir when the minions are about, and I’ll let you get away with Nick the rest of the time.” He jokes, his voice back to its regular volume and Clint actually laughs.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Sir.” Clint holds out his hand and the two men shake hands.

 

* * *

 

Clint honestly has no idea what’s going on when he breaks into the SHEILD compound the file told him to rendezvous at. Fury is on his knees with a bunch of other men and women, most of them in suits and a few stripped down to their underwear. What appears to be a group of SHEILD guards are holding them at gun point and Clint figures it’s some sort of take over.

He’s already loading the fancy red bullets into the STARK rifle that he definitely didn't steal from the now very dead Colonel, when a short, slightly round man has Fury lifted to his feet.

Clint pulls the trigger as the man raises a pistol, the man’s head explodes and Clint has pulled the trigger again before any of the armed agents or soldiers have reacted. He moves from his current spot, fires again and ducks and rolls to a new position. He keeps this up, firing the fancy bullets into the hopefully bad guys and destroying their bodies.

Once the last guy has gone down in a pile of limbs and what remains of a torso Clint takes stock of the situation. He’s seen a lot of mess in his life, created a fair amount as well, but he’s never seen so many human being reduced to such a mangled state. Clint has to keep the bile down as he makes his way over to Fury’s prone form, wincing, he kneels and checks for a pulse. Finding one he takes in the damage to the other man’s face and forces himself not to think about the repercussions of having fragments of another person’s skull sticking out of your eye.

“Okay, who here is medical?” He asks the arranged group of bound agents, noting that he’s ruined the suit of the man to Fury’s left and the woman to his right is getting herself out of the handcuffs.

A small, mousey man informs Clint that he is the senior most medical officer who hadn’t drugged and bound anybody today, so Clint picks the guys cuffs.

“Are you hurt?” The man asks as he rubs his wrists.

Clint’s pretty sure that there are at least two bullets in him but the adrenaline hasn’t faded away enough for them to be a big issue yet.

“No, but I don’t think we can do much for Fury’s eye.” He comments and the man nearly faints before stumbling over to his superior. The woman who got herself out of her cuffs finishes getting the guy in the suit out of his cuffs and approaches Clint with them in her hand.

“I’m going to need you to put these on.” She says holding them out to him and Clint starts at her voice because he knows that voice, remembers it clearly from a week earlier when he broke out of SHEILD’s prison. The man in the suit comes to stand next to her.

“I don’t think that will be necessary Agent Hill.” He comments but Clint’s already got his wrist behind his back and the woman- agent Hill- ignores the other man and secures his hands a bit tighter than most people normally would, Clint finds himself liking this woman.

 

* * *

 

Clint has no idea how much time has passed exactly. He knows it’s been long enough for his mind to run through a countless number of ways to get out of the small room they placed him in, long enough for him to dislocate his shoulder while bringing his hands to the front of his body. It’s been long enough for him to find what he thinks was once a spring and use it to pick the lock on the cuffs, long enough for him to dig the first bullet out of his leg.

Fury enters as he’s trying to pry the second bullet from his thigh, Fury briefly pauses before entering like there was nothing wrong despite the fact that half his face is bandaged. The man in the suit who’s name Clint needs to learn follows a bit more cautiously, the med kit is dropped beside Clint.

Fury sits down on the bed beside Clint as he pulls the bullet free and stitches both wounds closed, only then does he allow himself to take the painkillers. The man in the suit makes the situation seem awkward as he stands just inside the door, Clint notes the clean suit the man wears as opposed to the still bloody clothes Fury has on.

“So, will you be taking up piracy?” He jokes, tapping under his left eye just in case the man didn’t get it.

“Laugh all you can Mr Barton, I can still glare fine.” Fury says and demonstrates this fact and Clint doesn’t want to know how bad the glare would have been if Fury hadn’t stopped halfway through with a sharp intake of air.

“I suppose that’s what you get, no glaring for you until your other eye heals up.” Clint admonishes and he wonders how the hell this is so easy, maybe the painkillers kicked in faster than he thought.

“Well, I guess you are going to have to stick around then. Feel the brunt of my wrath when I can deliver it properly.” He says and Clint actually thinks that working with this man wouldn’t be so bad.

“I suppose I don’t really have anywhere else to go, or a better use for all my pirate jokes.” He laughs and Fury turns to the man by the door.

“Agent Coulson please let our newest recruit know what he has coming to him.” Fury says, still light but a bit more authority in his voice. The man by the door- agent Coulson- levels a fairly decent glare in Clint’s direction, but he’s fairly sure the disappointment evident in this mans would be replaced by anger if it came from Fury.

“Before the meds affect me too much there’s something I have to ask.” He says, stopping Fury as he moved to stand. “How’d you get into that situation? How did that guy manage to get the jump on you?”

“That man.” Fury says with a sigh. “That man was the Deputy Director of SHEILD, and a good friend of mine. I didn’t see it coming.”

“Sorry.” Clint says, knowing well what it’s like to be betrayed. “But he did you a favour Sir, because believe me when I say you won’t trust so easily again.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Agent Coulson asks, the first words Clint ever heard the man say.

“Yeah.” Clint answers. From the way Fury looks back at him he knows he’s only reminding the man. “Yeah it is.”

He’s assigned Maria Hill as a handler the next day.

 

* * *

 

Two months later Clint and Hill sit in front of Fury’s desk.

“Do either of you want to explain how you both came to the conclusion that you can no longer operate as Handler and operative after only Two Months?” Fury asks and Clint is honestly impressed by the glare he levels at them.

“It was a mutual decision, Sir.” Hill answers without even flinching as Fury turns the full force of his now single eye onto her. He turns to look at Clint.

“She stabbed me with a pen.” He holds up his hand to show the other man his bandage.

“He got a little, handsy, Sir.” She informs him and Clint sees the disappointment that takes over the other man’s features.

“To be fair I recently-ish, got out of prison. Then you’re walking around in those pants of yours and I’m expected to _not_ get handsy, I’m surprised I made it two months.”  He declares and the anger is back and all traces of disappointment have vanished.

“Back to work, Hill.” Fury tells her calmly before forcing Clint to watch a video on sexual harassment in the workplace.

“I’m assigning you to Coulson.” Fury tells him as he leaves the office.

Coulson lasts four months.

“He stuck his tongue in my mouth.” Coulson explains and Fury has Clint put in several Psych sessions as punishment.

 

* * *

 

18 handlers later and Fury gives up and let’s Barton run around without a Handler. On his second mission he brings back a very alive Black Widow and Fury assigns Clint as _her_ handler, maybe he will learn something by the experience.  

He doesn’t.


End file.
